


Burn the World Down

by DaronwyK



Series: What if... HP Drabbles & Short Stories [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaronwyK/pseuds/DaronwyK
Summary: Tom Riddle isn't like most people, but that doesn't mean he is devoid of emotion. He just feels things...differently.





	Burn the World Down

**Author's Note:**

> One-Shot to explore the relationship between Abraxas & Tom
> 
> Set roughly between 1946-1948

**o.o.O.o.o**

 

“My Lord! We found him.” Hadrian Nott said as he entered the darkened sitting room where their Lord had been waiting. He was gasping, having run from the other end of the House where they’d placed Abraxas in his room. “He was unconscious when I found him. Rosier’s gone for a Healer, and Avery’s done all he can to stabilize him,” he reported.

 

Tom’s dark eyes narrowed and he strode past Nott’s shaking form, his magic making the air crackle around him fueled by his rage. It had been a simple errand, there should have been no risk to Abraxas or he’d have simply sent Rosier and Avery. A foreign feeling was stirring in his chest, and he was stunned to realize that it was…worry. That epiphany actually caused him to come to a dead stop outside Abraxas’ chambers. He didn’t feel foolish things like worry and affection for his people, and yet there was that sickening twist in his stomach thinking about Abraxas lying in the next room injured, possibly dying. He clenched his jaw and entered the room, seeing Avery hovering over the unnaturally pale form of the young Lord of Malfoy Manor. That sickening twist jabbed sharply in his gut again as he approached the bed.

 

“Report,” he snapped, channeling the confusing feelings into the familiar burn of rage.

 

“We met with the contact, but…we were ambushed. When Malfoy was hit, I grabbed him and apparated, but…he’s in a bad way. I did what I could to stop the bleeding but I’m no Healer, my Lord,” Avery said quietly.

 

“Get out, and don’t come back without the Healer,” he said, feeling his rage start to cool, transforming into an icy pool of potential violence. “And Avery…if he dies, we’ll be burying two brothers tomorrow.” He looked over at him with cold pitiless eyes. “I want names, and I want to know who was behind it. Go.” He did love the familiar rush as he watched fear blossom over the face of his follower. The rush died a quick death as Avery fled the room and shut the door behind him.

 

Tom looked down at Abraxas’ face, slack with unconsciousness. He found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out and feeling for the flutter of a pulse under the fragile skin of the other man’s throat. The steady beat under his fingertips eased some of the tension in his gut, but it didn’t erase it. Of all the men that he had gathered around himself, Abraxas was the one he would most lament losing. He’d been his very first ally in Slytherin House, an older student who had been intrigued by his easy mastery of the nastier forms of magic. Waiting for the Healer, it was all too easy to fall into the memory.

 

_~November, 1938~_

_“I saw what you did.” The lanky third year student came and sat on the couch beside the little first year._

_“I didn’t do anything.” Tom narrowed his eyes at the older boy. He’d been certain no one had seen him cast that hex._

_“Of course you didn’t.” His lips quirked into a smirk. “No first year could have pulled off a hex like that. I must have been mistaken.” His tone indicated that he clearly believed that Riddle had cursed those two second year students. Malfoy furthered that impression by giving the boy a not-so-subtle wink._

_“You’re not going to tell Slughorn?” Tom gave him an appraising look. No one did favours without an ulterior motive, and he didn’t trust what the older boy might want from him._

_“Why would I? They deserved what they got. It’s clear to me you’re no mudblood, I’d stake my entire fortune on it,” he said with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “Where’d you learn that hex anyway?”_

_“You can find all sorts of things in the right book.” Tom said, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. The restricted section in particular had all sorts of interesting books. He’d discovered quite by accident that his ability to speak to snakes had practical applications around the school, particularly on the bookcases with carved serpents on them. Those he could disarm simply by asking them nicely, others took more work…trial and error. The librarian, Madam Cole, had been trying for weeks to figure out just who was sneaking into the restricted section, but he had yet to be caught._

_“You certainly can,” Abraxas said, his silvery gaze measuring the younger boy. After a long moment he offered his hand to Tom. “I think we could be helpful to one another, Riddle.”_

_Tom reached out, and shook the other boy’s hand, very aware that they were being observed from various points around the Common Room. Malfoy had influence and standing, even with the older years…an alliance with him would be very beneficial. He wasn’t entirely sure what Malfoy was looking to get out of it yet, but he’d soon suss it out. “I agree.”_

His first year at Hogwarts had been a challenging one. It had been a difficult transition from the harsh world of the muggle orphanage where he’d spent his entire life, to sharing a room with five privileged pure-bloods who had instantly singled him out as ‘different’. He’d had to find ways to show them that he was not a ‘mudblood’, and prove that he was clearly from magical ancestry. The alliance with Abraxas had helped put those whispers to an end, since there was no way a Malfoy would consort with a common mudblood.

 

He’d come to categorize most of his classmates into those that would be useful to him, those that were unimportant, and those that were a possible threat. Abraxas however had always existed outside of those narrow definitions; he was special. In a world full of useless creatures, that one wizard stood out. He’d taken Tom under his wing, taught him the finer manners that were expected in the highest levels of pureblood society. Malfoy had shown him how important charm was in the little games that everyone played in the Slytherin dungeons. Under the subtle mentorship of the older boy, Tom soon garnered powerful advocates in Professor Slughorn and Headmaster Dippet. The old Headmaster had been completely fooled by his guileless smiles and tragic story, or at least enough to protect him from the petty punishments that the Head of Gryffindor so often tried to assign him.

 

Dumbledore had been a problem for him from the very first day they had met. He’d foolishly allowed the man to get a glimpse of his real self in an effort to impress the wizard, to prove that he was exceptional. Right now he couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man was somehow behind the attack on Abraxas. As if roused by his thoughts, Abraxas groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Unbidden Tom found himself reaching down and taking his hand.

 

“’Brax?” he said, hating the vulnerability in his tone.

 

“Careful, I’ll start to think you actually care about me,” came the lazy reply, the effect somewhat ruined by the clear pain lacing through his tone.

 

“Hardly, you’d simply be extremely inconvenient to replace,” Tom said, squeezing his hand slightly in complete opposition to his blasé words.

 

“Well, I would hate to inconvenience you.” The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

 

“Did you recognize your attackers?” he asked, intense eyes boring into his.

 

Abraxas tried to shake his head and then he froze, sucking in a harsh breath. “I didn’t get a good look. The scroll you sent me for, it’s in my right robe pocket. I managed to keep hold of it when I went down,” he said.

 

“Hang the bloody scroll,” Tom growled, a little shocked at his own words. “Where is that blasted Healer?” He let go of Abraxas’ hand and began to pace.    

 

“I have no plan to die on you today, Tom,” he said quietly. “Would you think less of me, if I asked you to just sit with me for a while?” he asked, almost hesitantly.

 

“Never,” Tom replied and returned to the man’s side and took his hand again. “Do you remember that night you sat with me?” He asked. It had been after he had murdered his bastard muggle father, framing his deranged uncle for it all. He’d been disgusted with the truth of his heritage, and gone to the one person he knew valued him. It was the first time he’d ever let anyone see him cry, and to this day he despised himself for that show of weakness.

 

Abraxas gave the slightest of nods. “You’re my friend, of course I stayed with you.”

 

“You know I don’t have friends,” Tom said reproachfully, the denial sitting strangely in his gut again.

 

“That’s never mattered to me. I consider you mine and that is enough,” Abraxas said simply. “Would you miss me, if I was gone one day?”

 

“Don’t speak like that. You’re not dying, remember?” Tom said.

 

“You’re evading.”

 

“ ** _Yes_**.” He bit out, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I would miss you.” Here in the darkened room, alone with Abraxas, he could admit that much. “In all the world, you’re the only person I would miss. You’re the only other person that feels **_real_** to me.” When Abraxas just squeezed his hand in response, he felt a strange warmth settle in his chest. Just then Tom heard the door opening, and he instantly released Malfoy’s hand, standing and moving aside so the Healer could attend to his wounded friend. In his thoughts, the forbidden word felt somehow right when associated with Abraxas.    

The Healer worked diligently for nearly an hour, before packing away their kit and rearranging the sheets over Abraxas’ body.

 

“Well?” Tom’s cool, imperious voice cut through the heavy silence. Despite his youth, whenever he used that tone people never failed to snap to attention.

 

“He will make a full recovery, but he will need to rest for the next few days. I’ve left some replenishing potions, and he needs to take one every twelve hours for the next three days,” the Healer said respectfully. “He suffered a fair bit of blood loss, and whatever curse hit him seemed to almost leech away his magical energy bringing him to near exhaustion. He’s very lucky he got help when he did.”

 

“Thank you, I will summon you if you are required again,” he dismissed him and let go of the breath he’d been holding since he’d first learned Abraxas had been injured. He’d always viewed people’s inexplicable friendships with disdain, a weakness they were practically begging to be exploited. He wasn’t certain that he actually liked the idea of this particular weakness afflicting him, but he would need to think on it.

 

A quick look at the bed confirmed that Abraxas was sleeping peacefully. Later he would tell himself that he’d simply remained at his side that night to monitor him for complications from the unknown curse. Whatever the real reason, he couldn’t abide the thought of leaving him alone.

 

o.o.O.o.o

 

It was nearly four days before Abraxas felt well enough to dress and leave the privacy of his rooms. He had seen neither hide, nor hair of Tom since that first night, and he was concerned. His instincts led him to the Library, finding Tom in his favourite chair and scowling over an old tome. It was a scene quite familiar to the young Lord, and reassuring in its normalcy. If Tom was reading about abstract magical theory, nothing could be too wrong.

 

“So, finally decided to stop lounging in bed I see,” Tom drawled without looking up from his book.

 

“Well, I thought I should make sure you hadn’t slaughtered all of our associates in my absence.” Abraxas chuckled and sauntered over to sit in the other comfortable chair. He let himself take a moment to really look at his friend, seeing shadows under his eyes. The younger wizard was holding himself tightly, tension clear in the lines of his neck and shoulders. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he said simply.

 

Tom closed the book and set it aside. “I’m…troubled,” he admitted.

 

“You worry your attachment to me is a weakness.” He’d always understood Tom better than most, mostly because they were so eerily alike. He knew his friend’s childhood had been horrific before coming to Hogwarts, not that he would have ever admitted it to Abraxas…but he didn’t need to. He could count on one hand the number of times that Tom had initiated physical contact with him, and was always supremely uncomfortable when anyone tried to touch him. Only Abraxas had permission to be inside his personal space, and it spoke of a level of trust between them. A trust he valued.

 

“Attachment **_is_** weakness. I exploit it in others all the time,” he said and stood, starting to pace in front of the fire in a sudden explosion of movement. “But when I saw you lying there, I was afraid of losing you.” He stopped and looked over at him. The confusion he felt was evident in his eyes, and painted across his normally composed expression.

 

Abraxas stood, walking over and offering his hand again. “Mutual attachment, friendship, is not a weakness…not between us,” he said, giving Tom full eye contact. He could feel the other man searching through his surface thoughts and emotions, and he allowed it. “Most people see friendship as a casual thing, pretty words and soft feelings. For us it’s different, deeper. You wouldn’t die for me, but you would burn the whole world to ash to avenge me…and you know I’d do the same for you. Our friendship is only dangerous to those that would threaten it.”

 

Tom was quiet for a long time and then he took Abraxas’ hand. “If someone hurt you, I wouldn’t burn the world down, Abraxas. I’d tear it into bloody, screaming pieces,” he said, his gaze steady and unblinking.

 

Abraxas believed him. Believed every single, terrifying, beautiful word.

 

~Fin~  


End file.
